Fearless
by ifithasapulse
Summary: A collection of Bela/Dean drabbles which detail just about any situation. Non-linear, sometimes AU.
1. No Baby

The sounds of a baby crying reached Bela's ears slowly, as though underwater. Turning her head on her pillow, she mumbled, "Dean, the baby's up."

"Hmm?" Dean rolled onto his side, lifting an eyelid to reveal a glimmering green eye.

Bela groaned into her pillow. Her muscles ached with exhaustion, but the sounds were getting distinctly louder. With an effort, Bela sat up, dislodging her cat from her chest.

For a second, she sat there, bewildered, trying to orient herself. Then she realized that her cat, now curled up on the radiator, was purring.

Not a baby.

Because, as any fool would know, she thought, her breath hitching, a baby was the farthest thing from their relationship possible.

_No baby._

And Bela didn't want a baby. God, why would she want a baby? And with Dean Winchester, no less?

But then, why did her heart ache so much? Why were her hands, fisted in the sheets, trembling? Why did her eyes sting with tears?

_No baby._

"Bela?"

She looked into Dean's sleepy green eyes and blinked away a tear. "Go back to sleep. It was nothing."

_No baby._

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**A/N: Hello, everyone! I know it's been ages since the last time I updated but I hope this to be the first installment is a collection of drabbles. Since I have lots of inspiration and zero time to write, making a collection of drabbles seemed like the best option. This is dedicated to the lovely Charmita, for always being wonderful and encouraging. I hope everyone liked this and whether you did or didn't, please leave a review telling me why or not. **

**Thanks very much.**


	2. Boiling Water

Sometimes, out of nowhere, the realization that Bela Talbot was perfection personified would knock Dean right off his feet.

Just a week ago, she had been boiling water to make tea, her hair pulled back into a loose bun and her bare skin glowing youthfully. She was barefoot, clad in a baggy faded black shirt that advertised an old British band and ragged plaid pajama pants. As she selected a tea bag from her vast storage, he watched the elegant curve of her neck, the graceful swiftness with which she walked.

"Dean?"

His gaze jerked up from where he had been observing the bones of her hands. She had beautiful hands, skilled and talented. They could switch from a brutal punch to the delicacy and sensitivity needed to pick a lock.

Rather like Bela herself, he reflected. Tough, intelligent, fragile, sneaky and with a certain air of sophistication to her. She was so perfect for him it made his heart ache.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Dean grinned at her, suddenly feeling indescribably happy. He crossed to her in two long strides, sweeping her up into his arms and catching her by surprise.

He smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose then her lips, looking down at her as the happiest warmth spread across his chest. "There's absolutely nothing wrong, Lugosi."

Bela's skin flushed rosily under the intensity of his gaze and she began winding her arms around his neck. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Winchester, but I like it."

* * *

**A/N: This is dedicated to the great fourteen miles away, who understands my Bela/Dean obsession better than I could hope. I wanted to write a purely happy Bela/Dean for once so here it is, albeit as a drabble. I hope everyone liked this and thanks for reading. Please review!  
**


	3. Angry

"ARRRGH!"

Dean flinched as he entered Bela's apartment to hear her furious scream. The thief, who was currently abusing a shredded heavy bag in her small gym, inhaled deeply, then pounced on the again on the heavy bag, which swung back and forth as she kicked it.

After launching a series of spinning kicks and plain old hooks, Bela wrapped an arm around the bag to steady it, sucking in air as though she'd never breathed before. Sweat streamed down her face and her skin glowed with scarlet exertion.

"Hey."

Her head snapped up, eyes glittering ferociously. And uttered one word.

_"You."_

Instinctively, Dean began to back away, his hands rising as much to placate her as to defend himself.

Bela's chest was still heaving with both exhaustion and fury, beads of sweat glimmering along her exposed collarbone. Her hands balled into fists and she began stalking closer.

"Hey, easy, I didn't do anyth-"

"Didn't _do_ anything?"

Her voice was cool, deceptively so, Dean thought with equal parts apprehension and fear. Bela continued to approach, moving with the same predatory grace he was so accustomed to.

She suddenly slammed her hand into the wall behind him and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the _hell_?"

Bela narrowed her eyes at him and moved closer, close enough for him to smell her shampoo. "You didn't do anything, Dean?"

"Please just tell me what I did, Bela, and I'll fix it."

Bela paused. "You'll fix it?"

"I swear, I'll fix it, whatever it is-"

"Can you fix _this_?_" _The thief hissed dangerously, slamming a newspaper into his chest.

Dean stared down at the headline, his brows furrowed. It spoke of a stolen emerald ring, one of infamous supernatural background. He glanced up, bewildered. "So?"

He instantly knew he had made a mistake.

_"So?"_

"I mean, why are you showing this to me?"

"You don't remember this ring?"

He blinked once, then again. "Am I supposed to?"

The breath whooshed out of her with a hint of a hiss. "This is the ring I was prospecting when you interrupted me."

"What? I don't remember-"

"March. It was rainy and I was wearing navy flats and a white pantsuit. In Lady Eleanor's manor up in Maine-"

Realization suddenly dawned on Dean. "Oh, yeah. I remember." He took another look at the newspaper. "So, this is the ring that got away?"

"Yes. And now, it's been stolen by someone else."

Her fury was beginning to make sense, he thought, apprehension mounting.

"Why means," Bela continued, her tone quickly becoming darker, "Dean, that out there, somewhere off in an opposite corner of the globe, is someone who managed to steal something that I didn't get around to."

"I mean, you _would _have," Dean tried. "It's just – well, you know. It's just that I was there and it got-"

Fire simmered in her dark eyes.

Dean hastily switched to a different tactic. Softening his expression, he tugged her closer, clasping her hips beneath his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "It was a long hunt and I couldn't keep my hands off you."

She inhaled sharply as his lips cruised down her neck. "Wait. What-?"

"I love you," he added for good measure, nuzzling into her neck.

"Stop. This is not getting you out of trouble."

But her hands were already in his hair, Dean noted with a smirk, knowing he had avoided death this time. "I know, you can still be mad at me."

"I _am _angry with you." Bela struggled to maintain her composure. She had been angry about something, hadn't she?

"Mmmhmm."

"Oh, to hell with it. You'll pay for this tomorrow," she murmured against his mouth.

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

**A/N: This is dedicated to my marvelous anon reviewer, M, who always comes back to read my Bela/Dean fics. I hope everyone liked this; I thought it was at least somewhat plausible, if a little OOC.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Stolen Goods

A pair of sunglasses are perched precariously on the end of Bela Talbot's nose as she lounges on a float in the pool, book in hand. Her left hand is wrapped loosely around an icy glass of lemonade with a tiny pink umbrella in it and in her right she holds a battered copy about the history of lock-picking. Her toes dip in the cool pool water, and her silky hair is tossed up into a high knot of tawny strands streaked with gold, kissed by the sun. A scarlet string bikini leaves little to the imagination, and a pair of glimmering gold hoop earrings adorn her ears.

She makes a picture, Dean Winchester thinks amusedly, trekking his way across the backyard until he was at the edge of the pool. He waits for her to take a sip of her lemonade before calling from the pool steps, "Hope you're wearing sunscreen, Lugosi. Wouldn't want you to burn that pretty skin of yours."

Bela's head whips around to face him, her eyebrows shooting up from behind her sunglasses. She almost drops her drink into the pool at the sight of him, which he can't help but grin at.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

She glares at him and he could swear he could feel the heat straight through her glasses. "How did you find me?" she hisses furiously.

He raises an eyebrow in surprise at her vehement tone. "What are you so upset about?"

"I'm in the privacy of my own pool, I'm trying to relax, I wasn't expecting you...what _else_ do I have to be upset about?"

"Well, don't be upset at all. I come bearing good news."

Bela shoots him a suspicious look over the top of her glass as she sips, trying to regain her cool. "This had better be damned good," she muttered. "Alright, I'm going inside to change. _ Don't_ follow me unless you want to die."

Dean watches her traipse inside the house, deciding it would be best to keep his distance until she cooled off her temper.

"Oh, and Dean?" Bela paused at the door, angling her head over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

She smiles frostily. "You'll keep your eyes above my neck if you know what's good for you."

Dean swallows, keeping his eyes on hers with an effort. "I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were. So stop."

Fifteen minutes later, Bela is out of the house again, her hair soaking wet and her skin shimmering with sunscreen. She slides into a lounge chair across from Dean, and glares fiercely. "You came here to talk, so talk."

"No need to be so aggressive. Sammy and I wanted to let you know that your mojo bag, the one you lent us a few weeks ago, came in useful in hunting a demon."

"Really? I'm glad to hear it."

He hears the question in her tone even while she doesn't voice it. "So, in order to thank you, we decided to share the spoils with you."

Bela sits up a little straighter in her seat. "Oh? And what would a demon have that I would be interested in?"

"Not much," Dean replies, unable to hide a smile at her reaction. "A few stolen goods, that's all."

"And you want to give them to me?"

"Share," he corrects. "We want to share since you nicely shared with your mojo bag with us. Without it, this job would have been a lot harder."

"You held a gun to my head," Bela snorts, vividly recalling the occasion just a few weeks ago when the Winchesters had _robbed _her of her mojo bag. "I was robbed at gunpoint, hardly sharing out of the goodness of my heart."

"Insignificant. We're trying to play nice, Lugosi. Do you want the stuff or not?"

"Not as much as I want to know how you managed to find me."

"We know people who know people. We found out you were squatting here-"

"-house-sitting-"

Dean ignores her interruption. "So we brought the stuff around for you. By the way, you should really tell the people you're _house-sitting _for that they have lousy security."

"Dean, I'm not an idiot. I realize that the only reason you're sharing is so that in the future you can continue to take things from me and expect me not to get upset about it."

"You wound me."

"I'd like to. However, I will accept your...gifts. If I find anything I like, that is."

"I'm sure there's something for you in there."

"Well?" She demands. "Show me the things."

"Here." Dean slides a few leather pouches across to Bela, secretly glad to be rid of the things. They have dark magic, powerful magic. Certainly not the kinds of things he wants or needs, but he is sure Bela can sell at least one or two for a pretty penny.

Bela rifles quickly through the items, using her experience and native intuition to guide to her to the most valuable items. She pauses when she reached a sapphire pendant dangling on a thin gold chain, inscribed in Latin across the gold. "Is this cursed?"

"Yeah. It has bad history associated with it; apparently anyone who holds onto it for longer than a few days dies."

"And you wanted to give it to me? I'm touched," Bela smirks.

"I thought you could sell it quickly." Dean mutters, shifting a little in his seat.

"I intend to. In the meantime, you should make yourself scarce." Bela rises swiftly, and tucking the pouch with the pendent into her pocket, she walks back towards the house. "My house-sitting duties end in just a few hours, and I don't want to explain what you're doing here."

"Of course." For some odd, unexplainable reason that Dean doesn't want to ponder, he feels a little disappointed at being turned out so soon. Maybe for Bela, their relationship really is all-business.

"I'll walk you out," she adds, sensing his discomfort. She may have been many things, but Bela Talbot was also a lady, and Dean Winchester _had _just left her a gift.

"Ah-sure."

They walk in silence through the house, Dean taking in the details of the beautiful architecture with slight awe. "This is amazing."

She glances at him, surprised. "It is. These windows are stained-glass, imported from Italy. And the high, arched ceilings were designed by the Romans," Bela explains, feeling more than a little like a tour guide. She swivels around to gesture enthusiastically towards the tapestries lining the basement walls. "And these. These beauties were bought from an estate sale four years ag-"

Distracted by telling Dean about the house, her heel catches on a snag in the rug, and without more time than it takes to let out a soft curse, Bela's knee buckles.

Hastily preparing to break her fall, she spreads her arms out, but is merely caught and righted again. Inhaling deeply, Bela twists to face Dean, suddenly breathless.

"Thanks."

"Sure. You should...be more careful."

The atmosphere is thick with tension, and their words are uttered with a sort of quiet reverence.

Seconds tick by. Dean doesn't drop his hands from her waist.

Slowly, not wanting to break the magic of the moment, Dean lowers his head to hers, his heart beating faster. His lips have just brushed hers when the front door suddenly bangs open, and a masculine baritone calls out, "Bela! I'm home, darling. Sorry I didn't give you much warning, my flight was changed, and I came back early."

Dean's eyes fly open, and, not moving, he murmurs against her mouth, "Lugosi?"

"Yes?"

"Who the hell is that upstairs?"

* * *

**A/N: Hi there! This is a little too long to be a drabble, but doesn't have enough plot to be a story on it's own, so here it is! Dedicated to fabulous Darz, who's reviews I love cherish. As always, thank you so very much for reading, and please leave a review!**

**P.S. -How do you all feel about a teenage Bela/Dean AU?**


	5. Remember Her

Bela's tousled hair fans out on the pillow, tangled strands trailing down her neck as she slept. Her fingers are wrapped in a loose fist around the cloth of Dean's shirt, and her hand is splayed out over his chest. He tries to dislodge her grip, but she merely growls against his chest, and tightens her fist. Her face burrows close to his side, her breathing soft and even against his ribs.

Dean pushes himself upright slowly, unwilling to disrupt her. The pale moonlight streaks in-between the blinds on the windows, and the tops of her cheekbones are gilded in silvery light. He glances down at her, and feels his heart stop.

She's angelic, her cheeks flushed from sleep, and expression peaceful for once. His gaze traces over her stubborn chin, the long lashes fluttering against the tops of her cheekbones. The clear skin, and straight, aristocratic nose. She's beautiful, but looking at her face, Dean sees more.

He sees the tiny scar disappearing into her hairline where she got two stitches from a knife fight when she was only fifteen. He sees the soft set to her mouth, which she never has when awake. He sees a faint bruise along her jawline, and knows she got it three days ago while crawling around in a ventilation shaft. He sees the purple shadows beneath her eyes, and the subtle trembling of her lashes, which he knows means she's dreaming of a heist tonight.

He takes another look at the tranquility in her features, the gentle curve of her lips.

This is how he wants to remember her.

He swings his legs off of the bed, careful not to make a sound. The last thing he wants to do is wake her.

He stops at the door, his hands shaking. Because he knows that walking out that door is something he will never be able to take back.

Decides to take one last look, knowing it will be his downfall. Knowing that she is his downfall.

Bela purrs happily into the bed, throwing one leg over the blankets. Dean resists the urge to cover her back up.

She gets cold at night, thrashing around the bed. Who will cover her back up after she tosses the sheets off? Who will hold her while she screams in her sleep? Who will make her tea at two in the morning, and rub circles into her back until she's warm?

Dean won't be around to do it anymore.

The thought twists his heart, but he grits his teeth. Strengthens his resolve.

Turns his back on her - literally and figuratively.

Tries not to think of how cold, and confused, and lonely she's going to be in two hours when she wakes up alone with her sheets at her ankles.

He wants to remember her the way she looked, asleep, under the moonlight - safe, relaxed. Peaceful.

She'll be angry, he thinks. But angry is okay.

He can deal with her being angry. He just doesn't want her to be sad.

And he's sure leaving will keep her the safest. She'll realize it, one day.

She'll be grateful, Dean convinces himself falteringly.

He leaves before he has time to change his mind.

Two hours later, Bela wakes up. Cold, and confused, and lonely, with her sheets rumpled at her ankles.

* * *

**A/N: I don't like to think of Dean leaving Bela ever, but if he did, I like to think he would have done it something like this. The teenage AU is still in the making, so please be patient, and prompts and requests are always welcome. Thank you reading, and I always appreciate a review. Critique is my life, so don't be scared to give me feedback, and I love hearing what your favorite parts were. **


	6. Little Velvet Box

What the hell was love, anyway?

Was it the way Dean's hands shook as he stitched up Bela's shoulder, his features twisted in pain as if it was his own skin he was driving the needle through? Was it the pressure of his hands on hers as they danced, the sensation sending shivers down her spine as if she was a teenager? Was it the fear concealed by anger when he found her drunk in the middle of Rio, wasted, at three o'clock in the morning?

Was it the way Bela had locked her fingers around the back of Dean's neck and dragged his face close to hers in the back of a taxi, desperation in the scrabbling of her fingers at his shirt buttons, need in the shaky breaths she heaved in?

Her chest constricting with the brush of his lips on hers. Her skin hot, her hands cold. Her toes curling inside of her shoes, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her body quaking, muscles wound tight, eyelids fluttering shut. Lashes skimming his skin as he dropped kisses along her jaw. Hands.

Hands everywhere.

Hands in her hair, rumpling it, tousling it, loosening pins, and causing a waterfall of burnt amber silk to cascade over slim creamy shoulders. Hands trailing down the sides of her body, hands massaging the knots in her back, hands tracing every dip of her body and the curve of her shuddering spine.

His mouth. Moving.

But not talking, which she loves, because words always seem to mess them up.

His mouth laving kisses down the exposed column of her arched throat, her head thrown back to enable him better access. In the dark, she glows, her bone structure illuminated by streetlights flickering over her cheekbones and her hair streaked with moonlight.

His mouth blazing a path from her clavicle to her naval, his mouth dotting kisses along her hips and ribcage and the indent between her collarbones, and then finally the sweet curve where her shoulder meets her neck, because X marks the spot.

Mmm. That mouth.

Those lips.

His teeth nipping her ear, tongue swiping over her pulse points.

Back to his mouth again, but with words, which pisses her off, because words always seem to mess them up.

And he's whispering that he loves her, loves her deeper than her sexy silk dresses and gorgeous emerald eyes. Loves her deeper than her perfect legs and slender waist, deeper than her wealth and Queens penthouse.

He's whispering into her neck that he loves her soul, and the scary part is that she might believe him. He's whispering into her hair that he wants her more than anything, and needs her even more than that. He's staring into her eyes and he looks so serious she wants to laugh or cry or kiss him, but before she gets a chance to do any of those things, he's fumbling at the bedside table, his normally graceful fingers clumsy.

And pulls out a little velvet box.

The world stops spinning on its axis for a few seconds, or maybe a few years. It's hard to tell when there's no oxygen being sucked into your lungs.

He grabs her hand and pulls her close, and she can feel the hammering of his pulse against her hand.

He asks her to marry him, and it's beautiful and perfect, and more than she could ever hope for, but after those four little words – _will you marry me _– she doesn't remember anything except how green his eyes were, and how she felt when he looked at her.

Bela might not know what the hell love is, but she thinks whatever little screwed up thing they share might be close.

* * *

**A/N: So...yeah, I don't know what this is exactly, but it happened and I hope you guys liked it. I know it was really..trippy and weird, and very different from my usual style of writing, but I sort of felt like playing around with different styles. Thanks for reading and please review!  
**


	7. A Great Mom

"The neighbors saw you break into the house yesterday."

Bela arched her brows at her husband as he hung up his keys on a hook by the door. Dean untied his shoe laces and kissed her on his way to the cabinets. Bela watched him get a glass and crossed her arms over her chest. "It doesn't count as breaking in if you're eight months pregnant and need to use the loo, Dean."

He grinned at her, filling the glass with a pitcher of iced lemonade on the kitchen table. "The kids wanted to know why you carry a full set of lock picks in your purse. And why your earrings double as tension wrenches."

"None of their business," Bela huffed. She eased a hip onto the breakfast island, her left hand rubbing circles absently over her swollen belly. "Maybe I should ask them why they're so loud when they sneak out of the house in the middle of the night."

Dean smirked at her indignant pout. His wife was just too cute sometimes. He crossed over to her, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. "How do you feel?"

"Pregnant," she replied shortly. "It isn't a very pleasant feeling."

"Sam said Jessica's pregnancy went smoothly," Dean frowned, eyeing her carefully. She did look tired, he thought worriedly. Dark shadows circled her eyes and her temper, although never generous, was considerably shorter.

Bela snorted inelegantly. "Jessica is a beautiful being of light," she said, rolling her eyes fondly. "She bloody glowed throughout her pregnancy. She never had morning sickness, the delivery took half an hour. She's just an insanely lucky woman."

"I guess the same doesn't apply to you," Dean remarked heavily, his gaze tracing over the pale tinge in her cheeks, and the way she leaned into the counter.

"Well, carrying another person inside you is quite an exhaustive task."

Dean pressed his forehead against hers and pressed her close to him. The feeling of her curved midsection had him grinning down at her. "One more month to go, Lugosi."

"One month is too damn long," Bela sighed into his collarbone. "And then we still have to pick a name…"

"One thing at a time."

"I'm not naming her Deanna."

"Well, I'm not naming her Evelyn."

"Dean. Evelyn is a perfectly acceptable, very beautiful classic English name," Bela began heatedly, emerald eyes lighting up as they always did when she argued.

Dean nudged her towards a chair. "Sit."

Bela didn't budge. Planting her feet firmly, she ignored the ache in her lower back. "I am perfectly capable of standing up, Dean. Being pregnant does not equal handicapped."

"You just told me you were exhausted," Dean pointed out. He nudged her towards the chair again, a bit more forcefully this time. "_Sit_, Bela."

"Fine. But only because you insisted." Dean rolled his eyes at her snappy reply, but couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from curling up. He sat next to her, and wound his long fingers through her slender ones. "Hey, Lugosi?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to be a great mom." He held her gaze, willing her to believe it. "Really."

She shifted uncomfortable in her seat. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said lightly, jangling her foot up and down with sudden nerves. "A great thief, for sure. But I wouldn't bet on being a great mother." She looked a little fragile in that moment, her features uncertain. Insecurity glimmered in her eyes and her mouth turned down slightly at the corners.

"I would," Dean told her quietly. He watched thinly-veiled emotion flicker in her eyes and felt her pulse scrambling under his thumb. "I love you."

She blew out a heavy breath. "I-I know."

"And I love this baby."

Her gaze flitted away, then back to his. "I think I do too."

"I know," Dean said, echoing her. "That's why I know you're going to be a great mother. You have so much love to give, Bela."

He squeezed her hand and Bela squeezed back.

* * *

**A/N: Hey there! I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated. Teenage AU is still on hold, inspiration has left me in that department. I'm still taking suggestions, though. Thanks for reading, and please review. Critique is always welcome. :)  
**


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